


Make the Yuletide Gay

by SweetStugLife



Series: Gundam Wing Secret Santa Stories [2]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Christmas, Food, Implied Muslim Quatre Raberba Winner, Jordanian Quatre Raberba Winner, M/M, Nostalgia, Pagan Trowa Barton, Saturnalia, Trowa and Quatre fill the void in their souls with kisses and mansaf, Trowa has mad game in this, Trowa’s Mercenary Squad, Winner Family, he’s a good boyfriend, what non-Christians do on Christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-09-14 03:38:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16905405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetStugLife/pseuds/SweetStugLife
Summary: Suddenly off-duty on Christmas, Trowa and Quatre piece a holiday together.





	Make the Yuletide Gay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moreena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moreena/gifts).



> This is a sequel to “Mercy Mild” but all you have to know about that story is that it ended with Lady Une, Mariemaia, Trowa, and Quatre building a snowman outside of Preventers HQ.

“I think that’s as good a castle as can be made out of snow,” Trowa says, stepping back. 

"Yeah, I think we're good here," Quatre says. He’s been around his share of construction sites, enough to get a good idea of when something looks feasibly finished, even when frozen water is the material. It’s an impressive structure that they’ve made; Quatre and Mariemaia covering the base and mid-level, while their taller companions shaped the towers. The small snowmen they've already built have a very nice home to retire to.

"I think so as well," Lady Une says, but the finality of her statement is directed at her employees, not her child; both Trowa and Quatre look at her, to see her considering a message she's recieved on her wrist band. "Good news. You're off the hook, boys."

"What, really?" Quatre says.

"Situation's all green, according to Team Water," Lady Une says, dropping her wrist. "Leave your comms on just in case, but I'm gonna finish cleaning up and take Mariemaia home."

“Ma’am,” Trowa and Quatre say, and salute, in unison.

They help heft Mariemaia's wheelchair onto the access ramp, and wave the ladies off as they disappear back inside the building. A silent, uncertain beat after the door closes, they look at each other, and laugh.

“We could resume our snowball fight, if you want?” Trowa says, gesturing at the snow. 

Quatre pulls his scarf up closer around his neck. “I think I’m getting all snowed out, to be honest.”

“The new plan then, o fearless leader?”

Quatre blushes faintly, and make something of a face. “Well, we should probably stick close, so...” He gestures with his shoulder towards the town at the bottom of the hill on which Preventers HQ sits. “I know some place that’s open.”

*

“Some place” is a small but spacious halal restaurant that seats at either tables or a window counter; in consideration of the holiday, all food is laid out buffet-style, piled onto trays to be paid for and taken back to one's table. Trowa slips onto one of the stools at the window after fetching drinks, having informed Quatre that he’s never eaten this kind of food before and he’ll have whatever Quatre’s having, and watches the foot traffic outside. With the bulk of the festivities over, the admittedly thin crowds consist mostly of friend groups and couples; a few families with children who need to release some holiday energy are sprinkled into the mix.

Quatre notices the same as he slides into the seat next to Trowa and sets a tray between them. “I’m not keeping you from your sister, am I? I know you guys’re in the country right now...”

Trowa shakes his head. “We don’t...the circus doesn’t celebrate Christmas.”

“No?”

“Well, there are people who _do_ , and they get the day off to go to church,” Trowa says, playing with his straw, “but the rest of us celebrate [Saturnalia](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saturnalia) on the 17th.”

“And what all does Saturnalia entail?” Quatre asks, bringing his own straw up to his mouth. 

“Everyone getting _very_ intoxicated and the Manager leading the strongmen in a drag show.”

Quatre chokes, a little bit of green liquid spilling over his lower lip. Trowa smiles, light and softly glowing as always, when he reaches over to wipe the trail off Quatre’s chin with his thumb.

“The drag show sounds fun,” Quatre says, as Trowa sticks his thumb in his mouth. “Glad I missed the intoxicated part, though.”

“So what is this, exactly?” Trowa asks, pulling his thumb out of his mouth and leaving a cool, mint-lemon-sugar taste behind. 

“ _This_ is [limonana](https://www.saffrontrail.com/jordanian-food-top-dishes-to-try/),” Quatre says, tipping his own cup in Trowa’s direction. “D’you like it?”

“Yeah,” Trowa says, taking a proper sip from his actual cup to emphasize his answer. 

“It’s everywhere in L4. Next time you’re there I’ll take you to this place near my house. They make it as an ice cream; I grew up on it. If...if you want to try it, of course.”

“I look forward to it.”

Quatre feels his cheeks instantly color. He glances down for a moment, biting his normal complexion back into existence, and then reaches out, tapping their tray of food with his pinky finger. 

“Now _this_ is [mansaf](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=vrKOGtcWHIo&feature=player_embedded).”

“Mansaf.”

“It's a traditional dish for special occasions," Quatre says, with faux pretension and real pride. "Do you want to use silverware? Or do you want to eat it with your hand?”

Trowa raises his eyebrows at the glint in Quatre’s eyes. “I have the feeling that I’m supposed to say my hand.”

“You can do it either way, but I’m glad you picked your hand. It’s more traditional that way.”

“...All right...”

“Here’s how you do it. Take your left hand.” He waves his own until Trowa follows suite. “Now put it behind your back; you’re not allowed to use it.” Trowa cocks an eyebrow but does as bade. “Okay, so you’re gonna...here, watch me.”

“My favorite.”

This time Quatre can’t keep his flush suppressed; it smolders faintly throughout him directing Trowa to roll a ball of spiced lamb, rice, almonds, and jameed one-handedly. 

“Now don’t let your fingers touch your mouth,” Quatre says, once his and Trowa’s right hands are full; his ball of food perfect from years of practice, Trowa’s relatively well-formed due to natural dexterity. “You have to just kinda...toss it in there.”

He demonstrates. Trowa tries to imitate, and it turns out dexterity only goes so far, as a few pieces of rice and almonds tumble down the front of his shirt. 

“Can’t take me anywhere,” Trowa deadpans, after he’s swallowed the food that made it into his mouth. 

“It’s strong, isn’t it?” Quatre asks, wrinkling his nose; he knows Trowa’s tells, and the briefest quiver of the space between his eyes is one of his food-related ones. “It’s okay; it can be a little much for the uninitiated. One time my father ser-...”

Quatre tries to make trailing off sound natural, like he got distracted by something. Trowa cleanses his palette with a long sip of limonana, giving them both a moment. 

“Your father served...?” he prompts when the moment’s passed, gentle in his straitforward way. 

“...Yeah, to...it was some big merger, I think. I was probably younger than Mariemaia is _now_ , so I don’t remember what it was for. What I _do_ remember is my father’s business partner’s eyes going huge, and him spitting out his entire mouthful onto my dad’s shirt.”

He manages to chuckle at the memory, and Trowa huffs out a laugh as well. 

“You adjust, I promise,” Quatre posits as the moral of the story. 

“I mean, _I_ like it,” Trowa says, reaching to take another handful.

Quatre smiles weakly and goes to do the same, but Trowa cuts him off, holding his own piece up to Quatre’s face.

“...Unless that’s not allowed?” Trowa asks, when Quatre blinks. 

“I...don’t think it’s _not_ allowed,” Quatre says, gaze softening. 

“As long as I don’t touch your mouth with my hand.”

“Right. Because you don’t wanna...don’t wanna stick a dirty hand back in the food.”

Trowa lifts the ball up, prompting Quatre to tilt his head back and open his mouth. Anyone who might have been listening would hear both of them snorting and suppressing laughter as they attempt a smooth maneuver. Quatre manages to drag the slightly-too-big ball into his mouth with his lips, and he's just barely got the whole thing chewed and swallowed when Trowa kisses the look of amused triumph off his face, replacing it with sudden bliss.

"I assume this is allowed, since no hands were involved."

Quatre snakes his left hand around the back of Trowa's head and answers without words, until a waiter harrumphs at them and they break apart; Quatre bashful, Trowa nonchalant. They settle back in their chairs, Quatre taking a very long sip of limonana in the hopes that it'll cool his blush.

“Back to HQ after this?” Trowa asks, beginning to roll another ball. “Or is there something else you want to do?” 

“Well...the night’s still young, right?”

“Any ideas for where you’d wanna go?”

Quatre turtles into the coat he's still wearing, tucking his nose into the cloth. Trowa tosses the ball into his mouth and chews soundlessly, waiting for Quatre to gathers and weigh his thoughts.

“Could I interest you in—if there’s a place open, of course—going bowling?”

“Sure.” Trowa glances sideways, taking in Quatre’s expression. “Any reason in particular?”

Quatre shrugs. “It’s something that we used to do. So how it is, is on Christmas, everyone at the Foundation has the day off, but my family doesn't really celebrate anything...my father didn’t want us to get mixed messages, I guess. But he _also_ didn’t want me and my sisters who were still at home running around causing trouble, either, so...there’d always be a bunch of small businesses open, and a bowling alley was one of them, so he’d take us there. It was fun, we...”

Trowa knows better than to ask if Quatre’s been in touch with any of his sisters. There’s only a handful who still speak to him, and Quatre will have already made sure to reach out to those who do either before coming to HQ, or en route, if they all consider the holiday important enough for a call. 

“Sorry,” Quatre says, after a beat. “I don’t wanna...drag you along on my Downer Christmas Tour or anything...”

Trowa slides his hand across the edge of the counter until he can drop it onto Quatre's knee.

“We can do anything you want, Quatre.”

“Well. I mean. I think if _you_ have any ideas, we oughtta...”

“I’ve never actually celebrated Christmas,” Trowa says, blunt. “Even before the circus. When I was with the mercs, we didn’t... _maybe_ the Captain would give me a cigarette out of his rations to honor the occassion, if he even thought about it. We weren’t really keeping track of the days, and when we were, it was a countdown to the next op. Nothing else really mattered.”

Quatre crosses his left hand over his body, so he can lock their fingers together messily.

“So it’s kind of nice for me, you bringing me in to what _you’d_ wanna be doing," Trowa continues, shifting in his chair. “Makes me feel like I’m...part of something. Like I’ll have something to miss, come tomorrow.”

Quatre blinks, and stares at him; gaze melting from surprised to heartbroken on Trowa’s behalf to adoring. He raises Trowa's hand up as he bends over it, kissing his knuckles before briefly running them against his cheek.

“How about...it’s something to look forward to, instead?”

Trowa turns his hands over in Quatre's grip, not to break it, but to cup Quatre’s face properly in his palm.

“Sounds good to me.”

They ignore the harrumphing this time. For a few seconds at least.

**Author's Note:**

> A long time ago I fell in love with the idea of Witch!Trowa&Catherine and Muslim!Quatre, and I’m finally getting to write about it ^.^ A mostly-Pagan Circus environment felt like a cool idea, too. 
> 
> I made Quatre Jordanian because the Arabic for “Winner” (al-fayez) is third most popular as a family name in Jordan, and apparently there actually _is_ a wealthy white family in Jordan with the last name “Winner,” so...it all seemed to work out. 
> 
> (I kinda like Quatre being Jordanian on his dad’s side, and Berber-Algerian on his mom’s...)


End file.
